Before he resurrected the memory of the Johnny Wadd character in 2001 with a spinoff cycle of features that centered around Wadd’s illegitimate son, and then again in 2011 when he began adapting and reworking the plots of early Wadd films into a series of detective novels, Bob Chinn, originator of the fictional private eye, wrote and directed all but three of the one dozen Johnny Wadd films that were made from 1971 to 1988. Chinn associate Alan Colberg helmed the inert Tapestry of Passion for Essex in 1976 and The Return of Johnny Wadd, a ghastly shot-on-video title from 1986, was directed by Patti Rhodes for John Holmes and Bill Amerson’s Penguin Productions during which time Holmes was in visibly declining health.
Of the three non-Chinn Wadd films, The Danish Connection remains the lone softcore film of the bunch and, as it was initially unleashed on the public in 1972, it was the first entry of the series to be directed by someone other than Bob Chinn (produced by Manny Conde and written and directed by Walt Davis, both Chinn associates and friends). However, of the non-Chinn Wadd films, it has the most connective tissue to the filmmaker and his pictures due to his own appearance as west coast heavy Hercules Fong and the reappropriating of his leftover footage from the previous year’s Tropic of Passion. But that tissue doesn’t make it any less of an unholy mess, even if it’s one that holds plenty of interest.
A zany patchwork quilt of footage in search of a story, The Danish Connection has Johnny Wadd on the hunt for a super secret virility formula that more or less boils down to what is commonly known in our modern world as Viagra. Though hardly a rare item today, this was SUCH far out stuff in 1972 that an adventure spanning multiple time zones and continents could be made out of a story about the search for it. Though it is entirely unclear if the transfer I watched was presented with the reels assembled in chronological order, the best I can manage with the story is that Wadd is kidnapped while surveilling Dr. Livingston Presume (writer and director Walt Davis), the criminal mastermind also on the hunt for the formula. Upon Wadd’s disappearance, Bert Steele (Bill Kirchner), impotent businessman trying to make it with secretary Kitty Plenty (Stella Artois), hires superstud photographer Eric Jensen (Rick Cassidy) to take over the case. His interest in the case gets the attention of Presume associate, sometime-bartender and underworld figure, Hercules Fong (Bob Chinn, credited as… Hercules Fong). Meanwhile, Dr. Presume tries to pump Wadd for the location of the formula using the skills of nefarious torture experts such as Lolly Pops (Cleo O’ Hara) and Mata Horny (Celenthia Monette), and also with the help his supercomputer that probes Wadd’s brain and extracts his memories.
Well, at least that’s what I THINK is going on. As stated before, some kind of argument could be made that the transfer from Something Weird Video is not only missing some footage (which, given the sheer number of deep jump cuts in the presentation, is obviously the case), but also that the reels have been poorly arranged or are slightly out of order. However, given the wackiness of writer and director Walt Davis’s output, just as strong an argument could be made that The Danish Connection was just as confusing when it was mint and first fed through a projector in 1972. Whatever the case may be, irreverence quickly gives way to incomprehension as footage that was shot for Davis’s Evil Come, Evil Go (or unrelated footage that was shot during that production) or b-roll material discarded from Chinn’s Tropic of Passion creeps into the film and, instead of dropping it into the narrative to create the barest sense of continuity even in the feeblest of ways that a bottom-drawer hackmaster like Al Adamson could halfway pull off with his eyes closed, Davis and editor Andrew Herbert create a giant ball of confusion. However, quite by accident, the movie almost grows in entertainment value with each nutty materialization and every nonsensical avenue down which it threatens to travel. Play your cards right and by the time Davis jams a frantic male ballerina into the film’s third act, you’ll be finishing off the bottle of wine you started with the movie and having an absolute ball. I suppose this film should come with a disclaimer that warns against watching it sober because you will not have NEARLY as much fun.
In extolling the virtues to be had in such a maelstrom of cinematic chaos, it’s worth noting that The Danish Connection is worth sitting through and preserving for the Tropic of Passion footage that Chinn shot in Hawaii in 1971 and then sold to producer/cinematographer Manny Conde for the utilization of this film. Not only is it fun to see the scenarios that Chinn and Holmes set up and snagged while futzing around on location, the footage looks better than what’s seen in the available transfer of Tropic of Passion. In a way, The Danish Connection augments Tropic of Passion by giving modern audiences a glimpse at the beautiful colors that were initially in Chinn’s film before time and lack of good stewardship rendered them washed-out and dull. And, not for nothing, it was the sale of that footage to Conde that resulted in what more or less added up to a negative pickup for Chinn as the amount paid ALMOST covered the entirety of what Chinn had spent on the budget of his film.
But even if all of the above is true and the footage Chinn shot is neat, The Danish Connection matches it like checks and stripes. Holmes is a bit beefier than he was in Tropic of Passion and often sports a (fake) bristly walrus mustache, and his hair is also in a state of being grown out where it looks like he’s wearing an imperial helmet. As for Chinn’s appearance, trying to match him with his role as Fuk Yu in Tropic of Passion was totally a fool’s errand because in 1971 Chinn looked like a shaggy tourist where, in 1972, he looks like a friggin’ rock star as he sports Miles Davis glasses and extraordinarily long locks.
It’s also kind of a blast to see what basically is a low-budget spy picture loaded with adult stars from the early days of west coast porn goofing off and having some harmless fun. If the pivot from the usual Wadd formula is what made Bob Chinn and John Holmes surmise that this must be the Casino Royale of the series (David Niven, not Daniel Craig obviously), it’s also the star-studded feel of it due to the cavalcade of Chinn regulars who float in and out of the frame, even if it’s for a second. Alain Patrick, Sandy Dempsey, Sandy Carey, and Alex Elliott all show up at some point in the film, even if ever-so-briefly and the production team (including Colberg who ran sound with Manny Conde’s son and, as mentioned before, went on to helm an aggressively ok Wadd film of his very own) all feels like family which helps give this a “let’s put on a show” atmosphere even if it’s crazily ramshackle, nonsensical, and really doesn’t work.
In the end, The Danish Connection is a weird entry into the already weird (but lovable) filmography of Walt Davis. In its attempt to capture a clever cacophony of gadgets, sex, kooky songs, and action in the vein of Casino Royale, the movie also ends up steering petty close to Mario Bava territory. While that sounds like a compliment, the Mario Bava territory I’m thinking of is Dr. Goldfoot and the Girl Bombs.
(C) Copyright 2023, Patrick Crain
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